


persephone watches and laughs

by idontknowhowtoread (heatherpotts)



Series: thank you mafia au for my life [2]
Category: Asagao Academy: Normal Boots Club, PBG Hardcore
Genre: Drinking, M/M, also one (1) smooch, also there are a lot of hadestown musical references, but hi heres the sequel dfhgdfh, dont worry about it, its more than twice the length of adc auughgh, lots of mentions of violence and death watch out, references to sexual stuff.. pensive emoji, this got so long please for the love of god help me, when lucah showed up in acns i absolutely floored it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherpotts/pseuds/idontknowhowtoread
Summary: A lawyer and a professor-in-training reunite after many months. Milkshakes, wine, and treachery ensue.
Relationships: Dean Elazab/Stewart Hargrave
Series: thank you mafia au for my life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728133
Kudos: 7





	persephone watches and laughs

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [cheapsushi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheapsushi/pseuds/cheapsushi), [lotsofdreamboats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotsofdreamboats/pseuds/lotsofdreamboats). Log in to view. 



> okay god hi dfhjgdfhgdfgh
> 
> once again if youre reading this and haven't read asagao city never sleeps, go do it!! its so good!! and this will also not make as much sense to you!! and also this is a sequel to aphrodite drinks cocktails so also read that please dfghdfhj,, nobody asked for this sequel but i went crazy when lucah showed up in acns and just speedwrote all of this so you are all getting it anyway
> 
> mandatory disclaimer, this is an au, not reflective of the real people these characters are based on and no disrespect intended. if you are one of those people or know them personally, please don't read this, and you know who you are get out of my sight
> 
> but alright with all that being said, lets get it!!

“It’s you.”

Mcjones wasn’t sure _why_ those two words were the first to come to mind, first to fall from his lips; he certainly wasn’t expecting anyone else. He’d come all this way, again after all these months, for the exact purpose of this reunion, and he certainly wasn’t expecting for Dean to _not_ be there, but…

Still, he couldn’t quite believe it.

They had agreed to meet at the Milieu diner, once Mcjones had arrived and checked into the hotel Dean arranged for him, getting properly settled in first. But Mcjones _wasn’t_ expecting the diner to be quite literally _deserted,_ Dean being the _only_ person there. Although Dean had mentioned, a couple weeks before Mcjones’ arrival, that the sign outside the diner would say they were closed- which the diner did appear to be- but he said not to worry about it, and to come in anyway. Still, it was a little off putting, but Mcjones chalked the anxious feeling up mostly to his own nerves, at the prospect seeing Dean for the first time in months.

Dean, standing right in front of him, leaning up against the wall in his suit. Not quite as fancy as he was when Mcjones first met him at the bar, lacking a tie and with a lighter suit coat, but still, ever overdressed.

Even after all this time. Mcjones had to admit, he found it charming.

Dean looked up at him- _Jesus,_ it had been _too long_ since he’d last seen those eyes- and grinned widely, so _bright,_ as if a solar flare came bursting in through the windows.

“It’s me,” Dean replied, taking a step towards Mcjones and smoothing out his jacket. “... You made it.”

Mcjones found himself overwhelmed suddenly, and with no idea what he was supposed to do. Dean was approaching him, albeit much too slowly for Mcjones’ taste, but he didn’t know if he was supposed to move as well, or run towards him; if he was supposed to kiss him, or hug him, or just take his hands into his own and stand there, appreciating Dean’s presence- he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he wanted, he couldn’t remember how he managed this last time- but thankfully, a different voice cut through the uncertainty.

… Well, not quite _thankfully,_ because the interruption scared the hell out of him, and he was under the impression the diner was _empty-_ but it was convenient nonetheless.

“Oh- Dean, ‘s that him?!” A woman’s voice rang out, shouting from the other end of the diner. As abruptly as the voice came, the woman came careening around the corner towards them, wearing a stained apron with her waitress uniform, but the ginger hair flowing down to her back suggested she wasn’t on the job- which seemed likely, considering they were supposedly closed.

“Yep,” Dean chuckled, laying his hand on Mcjones’ back and nudging him to face the woman- still, Mcjones noticed a slight _redness_ that came to Dean’s face.

“ _Ahhh_ , the man of honor!” The woman exclaimed, her wide smile reminiscent of Dean’s, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. “Welcome back to Asagao!”

“Um… Thank you,” Mcjones responded, swallowing nervously, glancing at Dean for guidance.

“Mcjones, uh- I should introduce you, this is my friend, roommate, ‘n honorary big sister, Reese,” Dean explained, gesturing to the woman. “And, uh- Well, you’ve already heard about Mcjones here-”

“Indeed I have,” Reese, supposedly, declared, gliding to Mcjones’ other side and patting him on the shoulder. “And you, _Mcjones,_ have got to tell me _everything!”_

Another, more _forceful_ pat on the shoulder nearly made Mcjones stumble, and Reese began heading back towards the counter. “C’mon, sit down! I can get you boys something to eat if you want, we got, uh- oh, how ‘bout some shakes to start us off?”

“Oh, you really don’t-” Mcjones began, but was cut off by Dean nudging him again to follow Reese towards the counter.

“Reese, you say that like I could _ever refuse,”_ Dean beamed, moving his hand from Mcjones’ back to Mcjones’ own, their fingers loosely intertwining; and Mcjones felt like he was going to _fall apart._ Dean guided him to the counter, both taking a seat on the stools as Reese went behind the counter, which at least gave Mcjones a _little_ bit of stability.

“I know,” Reese replied, leaning onto the counter to look Dean directly in the eyes. “It’s why I said it. Chocolate for you, I’m assuming?”

“Correct,” Dean affirmed, and the childlike grin on both of their faces was… almost _intimidatingly_ heartwarming. It was clear to Mcjones that they were close, surely having known each other for years- which made Mcjones feel a little out of his depth, having known Dean for only a few months, and having been in his presence for… surely, less than 48 hours. Dean mentioned Reese being like a big sister to him, and so Mcjones wondered if he learned that _smile_ from her.

Reese then turned her head towards Mcjones, almost scaring him again. “And what can I get for you, babe?”

“Oh, uhh…” Mcjones stammered, trying to think of a milkshake flavor that existed. “Vanilla?” 

“You got it,” Reese affirmed, winking. She stood up straight and turned towards the wall, wasting no time getting started on their milkshakes. “But while we’re waiting,” Reese said, somehow pointing directly at Mcjones despite being turned away from him. “ _You,_ tell me about yourself. Who are you, what do you do, and what do you want with _my_ beautiful boy.”

“Uhhhh…” Mcjones droned, sensing the gears in his head turning, but finding himself incapable of doing anything but staring at the counter.

“Geez, Reese, I think you’re scaring him,” Dean giggled, not entirely sympathetic, but offering some comfort by laying his hand on Mcjones’ shoulder.

“Get used to it,” Reese declared, not sparing as much as a glance behind herself.

“Well, um- I- My name is Mcjones, you- uh, you already know that, um-” Mcjones stammered, drumming his nails on the counter. 

“How about a real name? Doesn’t say that on your birth certificate, does it?” Reese interrupted, still not looking at either of them, but Mcjones could tell she was still grinning.

“Uh- No, it doesn’t. Uh… My real name’s… Stewart Hargrave, please don’t call me that though, uh-”

“Oh, no worries, babe, I won’t. Hargrave’s a nice name though.”

“Hargrave…” Dean repeated under his breath, his grip on Mcjones’ shoulder briefly tightening before relaxing again, as if… Well, Mcjones was already much too flustered and overwhelmed to tell if it meant anything. Most likely not.

“Mcjones is a nice name too, honestly. Let me tell you, some people in this town call themselves by the _wildest_ things, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about if that’s worrying you at all. My friend Luke, he’s a barista, plays music sometimes, so I guess it’s something of a stage name- but he likes going by _Yungtown.”_

“Like… as in, a town that is young?” Mcjones asked, the beginnings of a smile creeping up on him.

“Hell if I know! I’ve asked him ‘bout it a million times, I don’t think he even remembers. No clue where it came from, he had it when I met him, and he’s just been using it ever since. He’s a character, that one. He swings by our place fairly often, maybe you’ll meet him-” Lucah rambled, turning on the mixer in the middle of her sentence, almost shouting to be heard over it. “He’s got a voice on him too, I’ll say. But uhh- Dean, remind me what your _codename_ is? Billy, something?”

“Wh- Billy? _Balmung,_ Reese,” Dean choked, pressing a hand to his chest in what seemed like at least _semi-_ genuine offense.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it. Where the hell d’you get that from?”

“I just think it sounds cool, okay?” Dean defended, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you need a codename for?” Mcjones asked, gently guiding the hand pressed to Dean’s chest back down and into Mcjones’. 

“I- Man, sometimes you just need a codename, I dunno’ what to tell you. Like, maybe sometimes you’re in a public spot and you don’t wanna use your real name, or you wanna feel like you’re being sneaky? Don’t worry about it. What do _you_ need a codename for?”

“It’s not a codename, it’s just a nickname!” Mcjones retorted, feeling both mildly persecuted and utterly _giddy_ with the current atmosphere. “My brother started calling me it when we were kids, and it stuck, I guess. I like it better than my real name, honestly.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Reese responded, turning off the mixer and darting off to the side to grab two cans of whipped cream. “And let me tell you _what else is sweet, ohhhhh!”_

Moving about as fast as humanly possible, Reese added the whipped cream and little star shaped sprinkles to each of their milkshakes, and whirled around, slamming the three of them down on the counter; one strawberry milkshake for herself. “ _These, baby!”_

_“Yeeahh!!”_ Dean cheered, laughing; it was kind of incredible just how in sync Dean and Reese were. Mcjones felt a little jealous, honestly. 

Dean reached for his milkshake with the same kind of excitement Mcjones recalled from the bar, that of an excited toddler, while Reese pulled a stool out from under her side of the counter and immediately took a long sip from hers. Mcjones tried to show a little more restraint as he dragged his milkshake towards himself, but it smelled _delicious_ already. 

Reese ended her sip with a refreshed _ahhh,_ chuckling to herself. “Anyway, where was I… We got _who_ you are, now, uhh- Oh, what do ya do?”

“Well, I, uhh-” Mcjones began, taking a sip of his milkshake in between his words. “Oh- Wow, this is really good-”

“Why thank you!” Reese laughed, picking one of the sprinkles off of her milkshake and eating it. “Well, I mean, it’s basically what I do for a living, so I hope I’m good at it.”

“You certainly are. But, uh, I’m a student right now. Studying literature, I wanna become a professor-”

“Ooh, _professor_ Mcjones!” Reese exclaimed, utterly enraptured with Mcjones’ tale, even though he personally didn’t think it was particularly… enrapturing.

“Dude, that’s _exactly_ what I said,” Dean chuckled, sipping his milkshake with another one of those adorable grins on his face. “Suits him, right?”

“It _so_ does,” Reese agreed, and… Mcjones appreciated the validation, he supposed.

“Uh, thanks… Still a ways off though, I- I dunno’, I’m getting there. I’m just working at a coffee shop right now, before I can do all that-”

“Ooh, coffee shop, just like Luke!” Reese said, making Mcjones wonder who the hell this _Luke_ guy was, why Reese kept bringing him up. He supposed she really liked him. “Dean, you were working that gig too a while back, weren’t you?”

“Oh, God, yeah. _Years_ ago, but yeah. I was kind of a terrible barista,” Dean explained, rubbing the back of Mcjones’ hand with his thumb, as if he was soothing himself somewhat; soothing the both of them, really.

“Oh, believe me, I remember,” Reese jabbed, biting her lip for a moment. “But I swear, there’s _something_ about coffee shop boys, all the good ones end up there, or something. I met my husband as he was working at a coffee shop! He was about to quit, but still,” Reese digressed, taking another long sip of her milkshake once she was finished. Reese was… _entertaining,_ Mcjones could give her that. He felt like he could listen to her talk for hours. “Anyway, where was I… Who are you, what do you do,” Reese mumbled. “Oh, right, yeah! What do you want with my beautiful boy?”

Mcjones pressed his lips together, glancing over at Dean, who met his eyes, seeming equally… embarrassed. “Um…” Mcjones stammered, squeezing Dean’s hand. “What… kind of answer are you looking for…?”

Reese leaned back, snickering. “Alright, honestly, you’ve already earned my trust, I won’t press you too hard.”

Mcjones supposed that it was good that Reese trusted him, but… that was quick, wasn’t it? Pretty… easy. _Hm._

“But, uh- I mean, you like him, right? You’re not out to rob him for all he’s worth or strangle him with piano wire or anything, right?”

“Oh, God no,” Mcjones swore, quickly diverting from the tension of that question by taking a sip from his milkshake. Dean exhaled sharply, seeming to have nearly choked on his milkshake.

“Reese- Okay, that happened _one_ time, can we not keep bringing it up-”

“One time too many, sweetheart, you can never be too careful,” Reese tutted, furrowing her brow, the tone of her voice beyond big sister-ly _,_ very much _motherly._ “I like my beautiful boys _alive,_ ya’know? _Need_ ‘em alive _._ ”

“I- _What?”_ Mcjones asked, his gaze flickering back and forth between Dean and Reese, trying to understand _what the hell that was supposed to mean._

“Don’t worry about it, Mcjo-”

“It _is_ worrying!” Reese interrupted, slamming her glass down on the table. “It is _quite_ worrying. Lemme tell you about it. This was- oh, years ago now, but let’s just say- One night, Dean brought this nice lady home-”

“Reese, please.”

“I- Yeah, I’ll spare him the details, chill out- Dean brought home this nice- _seeming_ young lady, and me being the nice roommate I am, I got to work on clearing everyone else out of the apartment so they could have their _alone time_.”

Dean buried his head in his hands, the tips of his ears _bright red-_ and it occurred to Mcjones that apparently, that was the… _procedure_ for whenever Dean brought anyone home. Mcjones had no idea he had a roommate- _roommates, plural_ apparently- until Dean introduced Reese. Which was, uhh… _suggestive,_ of certain things...

He decided not to dwell on it.

“So, that means my husband, and we had a couple other people living with us at the time, so I’m getting everybody out of the way- but a little while later, I was planning on going to the store while I was out of the house, but I forgot my wallet inside. Usually I keep it in my purse, but somehow I accidentally left it on the kitchen table. Don’t ask me how, I honestly have no idea. But so I sneak back on in, trying to make it quick, ‘cause- y’know. _Privacy._ But as soon as I walk through the door, I’m hearing these- grunting, panting, these _erotic_ noises-”

Dean slammed his hands onto the counter, looking positively _mortified._ “They were _not_ erotic noises.”

“Oh, no, yeah, I know that now. But at the time, ‘s what I thought they were. Like, I thought they’d be doing it in Dean’s bedroom at least-”

Dean groaned and laid his head in his arms. 

… Mcjones felt bad for laughing, but it was kind of funny.

“But, no. I turn the corner, and the living room’s totally _trashed._ Shit’s wiped off the shelves, I’m seeing furniture flipped over, there’s broken glass on the floor from the light bulbs, and I see Dean and this woman, both of ‘em just _bloody._ The girl’s up on the couch, Dean’s writhing around on the floor beneath her, and she’s just _tugging_ with all the strength in her little body on the piano wire wrapped ‘round his neck.”

… _Oh._ That escalated quickly.

“Jesus,” Mcjones whispered, eyes wide and definitely not laughing anymore. He glanced over at Dean, still with his head in his arms; maybe he was reacting less out of embarrassment and more because it was a memory he… didn’t exactly want to _relive._ “I… That’s terrible. Did… the piano wire, why’d she- Did she bring that with her, or…?”

“No, no, it was ours. We’ve got a piano in our living room, since we got plenty of musician types coming through our home, y’know. So, I believe the wire was just laying on top of it, ‘cause we didn’t know where else to put it, and she snagged it just for the occasion.”

“... Wow,” Mcjones murmured, lightly laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder, a tiny whimper escaping Dean as a result. “Uh… What did you do then?”

A wide, sunshine-y, _entirely inappropriate_ smile grew on Reese’s face. “Oh, I shot her.”

“... You- you _shot_ her?” Mcjones asked, eyes widening.

“Yeah. ‘S what she gets, messing with my boy,” Reese declared, suddenly making Mcjones feel a lot more grateful that Reese supposedly already trusted him. “Was a bitch to clean up, but so was the rest of the living room. And I got help, at least.”

Dean sighed, raising his head and dragging his milkshake closer to himself, taking a very long sip with the most _pitiful_ look on his face. He didn’t say anything in response, didn’t confirm or deny any part of the story, nor the fact that Reese indeed _shot_ and presumably _killed_ this unnamed woman; but Mcjones did notice for the first time, a tiny, centimeter thick wide, ghostly red line wrapped all the way around Dean’s neck- seeming to corroborate Reese’s story. The lighting in the bar was dark when he first met Dean, he excused himself there, but now- he just felt like an idiot for never noticing.

“... Yeesh. Bit of a mood killer, huh?” Reese commented, taking the last sip of her milkshake. 

“Yes,” Dean softly replied in between sips of his.

“... Sorry,” Reese muttered, shrugging. She stood up, pushed her stool back under the counter, and brought her empty glass over to the sink. “... Uh, anyway- you boys want some _actual_ food? Trauma makes me hungry.”

\---

“Did Reese really… _kill_ that girl she was talking about?”

Dean stiffened somewhat; not out of any sort of fear, but seemingly just confused surprise at the question itself. He turned his head to look at Mcjones, holding his glass of wine idly in front of him; almost as if he was posing, there, languidly stretched out on the couch. The same couch, presumably, the… _incident_ Mcjones was speaking of occured.

Mcjones wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with being left _alone_ with Dean in his apartment again, Reese having cleared everyone else out. He did catch a glimpse of the man he assumed was Reese’s husband, curly haired and carrying out cardboard boxes of… something heavy, clearly, but Mcjones couldn’t say what was in them. The _Luke_ that Reese kept talking about was there too, a bit intimidatingly tall and intimidatingly dressed like a total mobster, but he seemed nice enough- Mcjones didn’t get the chance to greet either of them. This… tiny, scrawny kid was there too, Mcjones had no idea who he was, and he didn’t help at all with the boxes, but he seemed to be following Luke around. 

But they were all gone by then, and there was a certain... _implication_ when Reese cleared out the house for him and Dean, talking about the value of their _privacy_ and their alone time and… everything. Mcjones wasn’t sure how to explain to her that it was really, nothing of the sort. The night he met Dean was the… Well, the third or so time he’d kissed another guy, but the first time in _years,_ and all he did at Dean’s apartment later that night was drink wine, cry, and then pass out at 9PM. At that point, they’d already started on the wine, and so Mcjones was prepared for a repeat. 

“... Well, yeah,” Dean replied, a soft chuckle following, this tiny, bewildered smile on his face- and Mcjones was sure it was the wine talking, but he found Dean so beautiful. _So_ beautiful, and he had nowhere near the emotional maturity or _intelligence_ to know how to handle it; besides trying to ignore it, and inevitably failing, and probably crying. “Not like she’d lie about it.”

“I- As far as I’m aware- Where I’m from at least, people don’t usually just- _casually_ admit murder to people they’ve just met,” Mcjones mused, shifting in his seat, still working on processing how that was something Reese just… _said._ Like it was nothing.

“Well, you’re not from around here, are you,” Dean said simply, taking another sip of wine; as if that made any sense or answered any of Mcjones’ questions. “And it wasn’t really _murder,_ it was- well, not self defense, but- y’know what I mean. She’s not the one who started it.”

“... Hm.” That was all Mcjones could think to respond with, mirroring Dean and taking a sip of his own wine. “I’m… sorry if all this is… y’know, bad memories for you.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” Dean assured, not particularly assuringly; as he swirled his glass with this _unreadable_ look on his face. “I mean, it is bad memories- but it’s fine. Wine makes it better,” he continued, laughing quietly to himself; but it seemed bitter. “And you… should probably know. How... things are, here.”

“Uh- I- I don’t believe your… near death experiences are at all my business, especially if it still hurts you-”

"It wouldn't be the first," Dean interrupted, staring at a certain empty spot on the wall. "Or the last, for that matter…" 

“... _What?”_ Mcjones murmured, his eyes narrowed. With the way Dean was outstretched, with the lights above them, and with Dean’s distant gaze allowing Mcjones to stare without being caught; it was hard to stop staring at his neck- the _scar_ around it. By all accounts, Mcjones should have noticed it before; even if the light was low in the bar, he’d been in this _exact_ seat before, in this exact light- and while he was drunker then, still, he should have noticed. He wouldn’t have asked about it if he had, lord forbid- but he should have _noticed._

Maybe he covered it, most of the time. He was supposedly on the job when Mcjones first met him- was _supposed_ to be, anyway, and Mcjones could concur that it was rather… _distracting._ He almost looked like a Barbie doll- like his head could just _fall off._ Like he reattached it every morning.

_Maybe that’s why he’s so perfect._

Dean glanced back at him, and Mcjones made sure to quickly look away, finding his own blank spot on the wall to stare at; but still, out of the corner of his eye, he caught that same smile on Dean’s face- distant, somewhat forlorn, seemingly _inappropriate._

“I mean… I don’t really know what to tell you, it kinda happens a lot, here-”

“What, being _murdered?”_ Mcjones interrupted, jerking in his seat- and swiftly deciding not to do that anymore, because he almost spilled his wine.

“I- Well, more so the robbery, but it gets to that extent sometimes. Asagao’s crazy man, I…” Dean trailed off, blinking slowly, before drinking the last of his wine.

“... Are you okay?” Mcjones asked, with no idea what he was really expecting- maybe a comforting _yes,_ a denial, a return to normalcy and another glass of wine- but the truth seemed clear to him, so he wasn’t sure exactly how Dean would respond. And with the question, they locked eyes- Dean’s eyes deep and dark, _swirling_ with so much emotion that Mcjones didn’t understand- and Dean gave a non committal sort of shrug.

“... I mean, honestly, I’m doing about as good as I can be with all this _shit_ ,” Dean answered, a sudden _gruffness_ to his voice. “It’s part of why I… _appreciate_ you not being from ‘round here, it’s… I dunno’. It… certainly isn’t the safest city in the country, I’ll tell you that.” He paused and attempted to take a sip from his empty glass of wine, frowning at it disappointedly. “... But I thought you’d, at least, _kind of_ know.”

“Know what?” Mcjones said, and it occurred to him suddenly, that _maybe-_ not by any substantial pre existing evidence that would suggest it, but just _maybe-_ whatever Dean was about to explain to him just _might_ have something to do with what Austin _wouldn’t._

And he could practically feel the adrenaline in his veins, the wind blowing against his face, as he was sitting there, at the edge of the cliff. Not knowing what could possibly lie mere centimeters in front of him, hundreds of feet below.

Dean sighed and stood up, delicately holding his empty glass. “Need a refill?”

“I think I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean remarked, meandering to the next room over, the kitchen, and… apparently, just standing there for a moment. “... And there’s something I want to show you,” he called, stepping back out without his glass, apparently having disregarded the refill Mcjones assumed he was going for. Without another word, and with only a vague look over his shoulder towards Mcjones, he turned into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. 

Mcjones hurried after him, leaving his wine glass on the coffee table; rushing towards whatever potentially _catastrophic_ thing Dean had to show him. Dean stood in front of the last door at the end of the hallway, past a bathroom, what was presumably a guest bedroom, and what _had_ to be Reese’s bedroom- the brightest colored and most _artistic_ of the doors, seemingly _painstakingly_ detailed drawings sprawling across the entire frame. Mcjones didn’t know if Reese was necessarily the _artistic_ type, but it certainly suited her, as bubbly and _sunshine-y_ as she was.

Dean’s door was unique in an entirely different way; rather, having _three_ separate locks on the _outside_. Mcjones could certainly respect a man who valued his privacy, especially considering… whatever it was that Dean was trying to imply about this city, which Mcjones _still_ didn’t understand in the slightest- but all _this_ just seemed excessive. All this before anyone could even _think_ about getting in?

Was it not self-incriminating, in a way, to put all this effort into hiding whatever it was inside?

Dean made quick work of the locks, however. Mcjones wasn’t sure where the first key came from, but Dean drew the second from the inside of his suit coat. 

… Maybe that explained his inclination towards those suits of his, _somewhat,_ but still- it struck Mcjones as entirely unnecessary. Or at the very least, there had to be some better, more _efficient_ ways of protecting his privacy. Dean was meant to be smart, wasn’t he?

Mcjones couldn’t judge, though; he _still_ didn’t understand the context here. He wanted to- and that was exactly why he would have _really_ appreciated Dean _hurrying up,_ although he didn’t actually say it.

The third lock was electronic, connected to the door handle itself, taking a six number code and beeping with each button press. Dean didn’t make any attempt to keep Mcjones from seeing the code, for whatever reason- and so he mentally noted that it was _217512._ He couldn’t think of any possible significance for the code, though- maybe that was a good thing? At least it wasn’t a birthday.

With all of that out of the way, Dean removed the two extra locks and _finally_ opened the door. Mcjones hadn’t had the _luxury_ of entering the last time he was here, and… as it turned out, there really wasn’t much to see; at least not at first glance. His bed, neatly made; so untouched it seemed like it hadn’t been slept in for a long time. His closet, a work desk, a shelf with some general memorabilia, really nothing out of the ordinary- other than the equally excessive number of locks on the _inside_ of the door as well, even one of those jammers that lodged under the door handle. 

Mcjones was pretty sure that at this rate, if somebody _really_ wanted to get in- nothing was necessarily stopping them from just breaking down the door. The door itself wasn’t particularly reinforced, at least not from what Mcjones could tell. Whenever Dean finally got around to showing Mcjones that _secret_ of his, he had some _constructive criticism_ to give.

Dean approached his work desk, crouching down and opening one of the drawers beneath it, taking out a metal lockbox- once again, padlocked. _What a surprising turn of events._ He then lowered himself all the way down to the ground, pressing his back up against his bed frame with the lockbox in his lap. Mcjones took one glance back at the door, just to be sure nothing was there, before joining Dean on the floor, on his knees with their shoulders almost touching- staring at Dean’s hands as he worked on the lock, this time requiring a four digit code.

He felt almost like they were children, intimately sharing first grade gossip and secrets found in cereal boxes, hiding from parents or teachers or _snitches-_ but maybe that feeling came down to the fact that _still,_ Mcjones had no idea what to expect. There could have been anything in that lockbox- and to cope with the magnitude of those possibilities, Mcjones occupied himself by judging Dean’s security measures, he supposed. Maybe that was somewhat childish of him.

But even if it was, that wasn’t going to stop him. This final- _hopefully-_ lock seemed to be the simplest of them all, not electronic like the other number lock on the door. Dean manually set each number in the combination, struggling a bit with how tiny the lock was and how the mechanism seemed to like to stick- but eventually, he set the lock to _0318,_ and the lockbox miraculously opened.

(... _0318_ had to be a birthday, but Mcjones decided to save that criticism for later- they were _almost_ there.)

Inside the lockbox was… _paperwork._ A lot of it, densely packed together, different colored tabs scattered throughout presumably _trying_ to denote where things were, but Mcjones couldn’t be bothered to try and decipher it. All this seemed to be was _lawyer stuff-_ which made sense, considering it was safely kept at Dean’s work desk. It was probably all important, which justified the lockbox- but that didn’t answer any of Mcjones’ questions.

But Dean wasn’t done; he flipped through some of the papers with his thumb, pausing in between two tabs- one green, one yellow, and dug around for a moment until he pulled out a _photograph._

He took a moment for himself to stare at the photograph, sighing and fondly grazing it with his thumb. He glanced back at Mcjones, and the look in his eyes could only be described as _apologetic-_ and Mcjones was fairly sure it wasn’t _just_ for all the trouble it took getting to this point. Dean swallowed, and gently held the photograph by the corner as he handed it to Mcjones, whispering, _“here.”_

And for just a second, it felt like the entire world stopped- his breath hitching, his heart skipping a beat, and Dean sitting next to him completely still, like a statue.

For just a second, his eyes locked onto _Austin’s_ face- and he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think about anything else. Only _Austin._

_Austin,_ it kept _echoing_ in his mind, hollow in the absence of any other thoughts. _Austin, Austin, Austin._

_Austin._

_Why, and when, and how, and what the actual hell?_

The second eventually passed, and time caught up. His heartbeat restarted, Dean shifted somewhat nervously by his side, he took a breath- and promptly searched for every bit of context the photograph had to offer.

Austin wasn’t the only one in the picture- Dean himself was the next thing Mcjones was able to process, Austin’s arm slung around his shoulders as they both smiled for the camera. Dean looked cute, Mcjones noted; he looked remarkably similar to the night Mcjones met him, black suit and all- the only differences being that in the photograph, his hair was longer, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Mcjones couldn’t be sure exactly where the photograph was taken, although judging by the lighting, the kind of crowd in the background, and the empty glass in Austin’s other hand- it may very well have been the Bluebell bar itself. 

… Mcjones hadn’t seen Austin smile like he was in the photograph in… literal _years._ Never when Mcjones visited him here in Asagao was his smile so _earnest,_ so genuine. And Mcjones had never seen Austin under any sort of _influence_ either, other than the one time he semi-intentionally drugged Austin with Nyquil. All of that was unrelated, but his main conclusion was, he looked _happy._ He was all dressed up too, not quite to Dean’s extent, but in a perfectly decent green suit jacket and slacks; and while it was meant to be a running joke that nobody in their family was particularly photogenic, excluding their mother, altogether it was just… an incredibly sweet picture. Disregarding the fact that Austin was most likely incredibly drunk, it was the kind of quality that their mother probably would have _killed_ to frame and hang up on the wall. 

Dean certainly made it sweeter; and yet, so much more _concerning._

There were two other men in the picture, one on each side of the picture. Mcjones didn’t recognize either of them; _couldn’t,_ actually, as both of their faces had been scribbled out in pen. Trying to see past the ink on the man on the left, all Mcjones could really make out was a decently impressive dark beard, and what was presumably a bright smile to match Dean and Austin’s. Both of the unidentified men were dressed similarly to Austin, although this man’s vest was a darker shade of green. However, this man seemed much more… gentle, in his posture, how he held his half full wine glass delicately in front of him. The other man on the right side, Mcjones couldn’t find much else to say about him; just that he looked pretty similar to Austin, just shorter, and probably even _drunker_ judging by his posture.

Mcjones lowered the photograph slightly, and turned his head towards Dean again, still looking oddly _apologetic._ Guilt, maybe?

“So, I’m… guessing you recognize him?” Dean asked, gesturing vaguely to the photograph, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Huh- Who, Austin?” Mcjones retorted, and Dean nodded. “Of course I do, he’s… he’s my little brother.”

Dean took a moment to process that information, tilting his head back to rest against the bed frame. “... Okay, I… yeah, that’s what I thought. Or, well, I was also thinking y’all might be cousins, or something, since you don’t really look alike at all- but, it’s- it’s whatever, doesn’t matter. It’s just that- when I heard you say _Hargrave_ earlier today, I… kinda freaked out.”

“How… wh- okay, _first_ of all, when was this taken?” Mcjones asked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, quite concerned about the fact that Dean was freaked out- what did he have to be freaked out about?

“Uh… I remember it was winter, it was so fuckin’ cold out, so, uh- three years ago, I believe? Or, coming up on four, I guess,” Dean answered, but was suddenly overcome by this far off look in his eyes, as his voice quieted and he started staring at the floor. “Almost four years… Damn,” he whispered, promptly dragging himself back to reality, looking at Mcjones once more.

“... Okay. Second, how do you know him? I- what even is this?” 

Dean pressed his lips together, averting his eyes for a moment, as if that was a difficult question to answer; which didn’t seem like a good sign. “We, uh…” Dean started gruffly, clearing his throat. “Well, that was just taken at a party, we basically rented out the bar for the night-”

“Who’s _we?”_

“I’m getting there,” Dean sighed, chuckling softly; but almost certainly not because any of this was funny. “We… _work together,_ you could say.”

… Mcjones had to take another moment to process just how much that didn’t make any sense.

“... I’m pretty sure Austin isn’t a lawyer. Or any sort of office worker, I- I remember him being specifically _against_ that sort of thing.”

As Mcjones said that, he watched as this tiny flicker of light in Dean’s eyes, the final fraction that was still hanging on, began to wane- and then vanished completely. Dean’s face fell- there was still something of a smile on his face, but it was utterly empty. 

“... You really don’t know, do you?”

“You _keep_ saying that. Know _what?”_

“That… _fuck,”_ Dean groaned, running his hand through his hair. “I really don’t wanna be the one to break this to you. Are you sure you wanna know?”

_“Yes,”_ Mcjones snapped, and felt mildly bad about it immediately after; it was clear that Dean wasn’t having a super great time with the subject either. But if this had to do with Austin- which almost surely it did- and if he was in any sort of _danger;_ he couldn’t afford to let this go. No matter how inconvenient the truth. “Tell me.”

Dean swallowed, nodding at Mcjones, and clearly mentally struggled with the phrasing for a couple seconds before finally speaking.

“... Okay, just gonna… lay this out, rip off the bandaid-” Dean began, craning his neck to check the doorway, just in case anyone was there. Which, of course, there wasn’t. He sighed again, like a long suffering maiden, and finally gave his answer. 

“... Your brother and I work for the mafia.”

And once again, for only a single second, the entire world stopped.

“... _What?”_

Mcjones didn’t feel like he could process that information correctly; not in the moment, not in days or months or _years._ He knew the knowledge was there, understood the words individually but he couldn’t truly… _understand._ It didn’t make any sense, and yet it made entirely _too much-_ from all the things that Austin refused to tell him, to the nonsensical nature of Dean’s job and how he performed it, to the stupid _codenames_ Reese was talking about in the diner, to… 

Didn’t Austin tell him that that other bar, the Bottled Brick, was something like a mob front?

Mcjones knew he couldn’t fully process this; he barely had the emotional strength to look directly at Dean for more than twenty seconds, and he _knew_ that he didn’t have the strength to cope with this. How was he meant to? This…

This was everything Mcjones had ever been afraid of. The only person Mcjones had ever really cared about- the only _two,_ counting Dean- endangering their _lives_ with something as absurd as this. Completely out of Mcjones’ control.

He felt like he was losing feeling in his fingertips. He knew, or at least _believed_ it was true, understood what was said and that it made sense, despite all of its absurdity- but a part of himself just… couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t accept it, couldn’t fully comprehend its implications. 

The confession felt like a bullet, lodged awkwardly somewhere in his chest. He knew it was _there_ , he felt the shock of its entry; but the full extent of the pain had yet to come, and he had no idea what it would be. He didn’t know where exactly it was lodged, didn’t know how to nurse it- and while he knew perfectly well what bullets were made to do, he didn’t know if this would… truly, _kill him._ He couldn’t even _begin_ to process that possibility. That this was the beginning of the end, for Austin, and Dean, and everything Mcjones held dear; dragging Mcjones down with them, right off the edge of that cliff.

Dean slumped over slightly, seeming relieved at finally having said what he did- but by no means was he proud of it. That empty sort of smile came back to his face, but now it was overwhelmingly clear that there was _guilt_ behind it. “... Yeah. You… really didn’t know, huh?”

“... How- I- No. How was I supposed to know?”

“It’s- It’s kind of a _big deal,_ here,” Dean murmured, his voice breathy and wobbly. “It’s why the whole fuckin’ city is… the way that it is. I…” He trailed off, bowing his head. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I- I don’t know why I thought you knew, but… I dunno’. It’s _everywhere,_ here.”

Mcjones was still woefully unaware of the full implications of that, and he knew it- but it did imply that… somehow, Austin had managed to keep him in the dark for _years,_ about an entire, _city-wide_ mafia ring, that he was actively participating in, _apparently._

… Considering it was Austin, honestly, Mcjones found that pretty impressive. And he’d survived all these years, at the very least.

But the fact that this had to involve Dean too… _Good lord._

“... Austin told me that, uh… This _Bottled Brick_ place was a mob front. Is that… related?”

“Oh, yep,” Dean responded, eyebrows raising at the mention. “The Blocks own it. I used to visit pretty often, actually. It’s where that picture was taken,” Dean explained, gesturing yet again to the photograph in Mcjones’ hands, and once again failing to actually _explain_ anything at all. “... Was a lot safer, back then. Before the whole… _thing.”_

Mcjones sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Oh my _God_ , okay. Who’s the Blocks, and what _thing?”_

“I- God, yeah I gotta tell you _everything,_ I know,” Dean said, rolling his shoulders back, a tiny bit of light returning to his eyes- but not nearly enough to really make a difference. “Ready for a history lesson, professor?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Dean murmured, clasping his hands together. “But alright, okay. So- Asagao’s got some city-wide… _crime shenanigans,_ going on, you could say. There are two big teams here, the Blocks and the Boots-”

“Which side are you on?” Mcjones interrupted, surprising himself with how _blunt_ he was being. He supposed it was probably the stress doing that.

“I- The Boots, but it’s kind of complicated, and I’m getting there. Okay. So, Boots and Blocks- The Boots are really the big, organized group here, the kind of by-the-books mafia. And there’s one big, bad mob boss at the top there, I- I probably shouldn’t tell you his real name, uhh- so, everyone calls him Shark. And so, the Boots are like- the real serious ones, you could say. They got all the professionals working for them, they got the big, fancy headquarters, and they got _me,_ I work out lots of real estate troubles and territory claims, whatnot. You know the drill.”

“I really do _not_ know the drill, seeing as I am not in the _mafia.”_

“That’s… also fair, but- Yeah, just saying, I didn’t lie to you about being a lawyer, I swear. And all that’s not what’s important.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Mcjones muttered, but Dean carried on without another mention of it.

“The Blocks, they’ve got a different deal going on. They’re a lot more like… a really big, sprawling, spider webby _gang_ rather than an organized group like the Boots. If I’m remembering this right, there’s six of ‘em at the top of the chain, calling the shots and everything, but beyond that, everyone’s… about equal. Or if not that, then we just… don’t have any idea how they really operate that stuff,” Dean explained, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I’d say they aren’t as scary as the Boots, but they kind of are, in a way, just because of how much we _don’t know_ about 'em. I’m pretty up there with the Boots, but it’s been years and we _still_ don’t know just how _big_ they are. We don’t know how many recruits they’ve got, or where they’re all located, where the big six are if they even _have_ a headquarters- nothing. We _still_ don’t even know who k- Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself. Just- basically, everything we know, of actual value anyways, has come directly from one of the six- Mostly Brute actually, but- yeah, that’s not gonna mean anything to you. What I’m saying is, most of what we know about them has come directly _from_ them, and- _Obviously_ , considering it’s a _gang,_ that’s not the most trustworthy source. So we don’t know much at all- just that they’re out there, and they’re fucking shit up for us."

“... Okay,” Mcjones sighed, slowly starting to recognize how it was even worse that there were not one, but _two_ mafias in this stupid town- but _whatever._ “So, what about the... _thing_ you mentioned?”

“I am _getting there,”_ Dean said, with this _singsong-y_ tone that made Mcjones deeply concerned. He motioned towards the photograph in Mcjones’ hand- for him to move so Dean could see it too. “The guy on the left, there, with the… scribbled out face but don’t worry about it, his name was Jirard. Or _Completion,_ since that was his codename.”

Dean’s voice softened with that, lightly tapping the left side of the photograph. “Not many people actually know this, but… He was Shark’s husband. They were the most powerful couple in Asagao for a good while- just, most people never found out they were _together,_ since, y’know. Mafia stuff. Didn’t wanna make targets of themselves too much. And Shark has always been a ruthless bastard, but… Jirard found a way into his heart, somehow. Pretty sure he’s the only person on the planet who ever _could.”_

“... Oh,” Mcjones muttered, very much aware of Dean’s use of the word _was-_ and now noticing the wedding band on Jirard’s ring finger, with which he was holding the glass.

“Yeah. You can… probably guess how the story ends,” Dean murmured, pushing Mcjones’ hand a bit closer so he could see the photograph slightly better. “... He died around a year and a half ago. Nobody knows who did it, just that it was a member of the Blocks- and nobody knows _why,_ either. Brute _says_ it was an accident, but honestly, I don’t believe it. His death… it changed _everything._ Things were always… _tense,_ between the two groups, obviously because that’s how gangs work- but it wasn’t like it is now. Borders weren’t as strict, going anywhere other than like, a block away from where you live wasn’t as dangerous- You could go and get a drink at the Bottled Brick, of all places, with the husband of the leader of the Boots. And neither of us even died,” Dean laughed weakly, rubbing beneath his eye.

“... Can’t say that anymore. His death… it broke Shark’s cold, shrivelled up little heart, and… the Boots and the Blocks have basically been at war ever since.”

… Mcjones couldn’t say he blamed Shark. If he was in Shark’s position, honestly, he probably would have done the same. If he were actually _strong,_ like this Shark seemed to be.

“... God, that’s… I’m sorry, that’s terrible,” Mcjones said softly, handing the photograph back to Dean. “Were you… close with him?”

Dean cracked a smile at that, exhaling sharply. “Honestly, not really. We’d get drinks, even dinner a couple times, but beyond that, he was basically just my boss. I… I wish I’d gotten to know him better when he was still around, honestly. He was the kind of guy that… if you’d met him, you’d miss him. I- Well, except for the guy who…” Dean smacked himself, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s a terrible joke. Nope. Not saying that.”

“Well, I’m… sorry for your loss, regardless.” 

“... Yeah. Thanks.” Dean smiled, tucking the photograph back into the lockbox, sealing it once more. “... He was a good man.”

“... Good as in, good for a member of the mafia?” Mcjones asked, surprising himself again with how unintentionally malicious that question came off; but Dean didn’t seem to mind too much, chuckling as he hid the lockbox back in the drawer.

_“Well,_ there are many standards with which you can judge a person,” Dean started, taking his place again next to Mcjones, stretching upwards for a moment. “If you wanna go purely by gang affiliation- no, Jirard was not a good man. Neither am I, or your brother, for that matter.”

“Right,” Mcjones muttered, drumming his nails on the floor. “... Almost forgot about that.”

“Mhm. But if we’re judging by, say- kindness, empathy for the people working under him, clarity of conscience, and… honestly, the sheer strength and patience it must have taken to mellow out a man like Shark... He was so, so good. And... I know he’d hate it if he could see what Shark’s turned into since. Yes, he… did some crimes, sure, but he always _knew_ what he was doing, he was never reckless about it. People called him _Completion,_ and you can probably catch the implication there, and so I’m not trying to say he didn’t do his share of dirty work- but I know he never hurt _anyone_ who he wasn’t convinced deserved it. Which, there are… a number of those kinds of people here, but... still.” 

Mcjones found it a little absurd that the consideration of this man’s literal _crimes,_ presumably violent ones, were being cast aside in favor of his relative moral conscience; but he didn’t feel like arguing it. _What’s a little murder, anyway?_ This was all _moronic_ , but there was nothing he could do about it.

“There are a lot of people in this city who _do_ deserve what’s coming to them, I’ll tell you that- like the guy on the right in that picture, for one, he was a jerk- but… Jirard wasn’t one of them. I know I probably sound crazy, and you don’t have to agree with me, but… I fully believe he was a good man. Among the best of us,” Dean came to the end of his ramble, his voice dipping into a whisper. “... He didn’t deserve to go out the way he did.”

At the very least, Mcjones could agree with that. Why did this town have to have so many damn _murder plots_ in it? But Mcjones was hoping they could _at least_ get back to the living room and their wine- until Dean spoke up again.

“You know that… _Luke guy_ Reese kept mentioning? He was over a little while ago.”

“Uh, yeah. Didn’t get the chance to talk to him, but I saw him-”

“That’s a good thing. He’s part of the _six.”_

“Ah- _What?”_ Mcjones exclaimed, already having a bad feeling about what that implied- _could this goddamn city relax?_ “Wh- But I thought you worked for the Boots.”

“... Yeah. That’s the problem,” Dean muttered- and that alone was an admission of guilt.

“I- Dean, you can’t be serious,” Mcjones stammered, glancing back at the doorway- there wasn’t anyone there, of course, but he was getting more and more afraid of the possibility that there could be.

“I am,” Dean replied, a plastered smile on his face, but spoken more somberly than even his explanation of Jirard’s untimely demise.

“But- Reese. Does she know?”

“No,” Dean put simply, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “You- You heard the story of what she did to that girl. And… for good reason, to be fair, ‘cause of all the fallout since Jirard’s death- she hates the Boots more than anything. If she knew, she’d… Straight up, I think she’d kill me.”

“Wh- Well- Why are you doing this then, _are you out of your mind?_ ”

“I- Yeah, I know, it’s a bad situation-”

“No fucking kidding! I- You- You just _explained_ to me in detail how dangerous this city is and how careful you have to be now, and you’re just- fully endangering your life, like _this?”_ Mcjones almost shouted, trying to dial back the volume, just _in case-_ but it was very, very difficult not to _scream_ at that _idiot._

“I- Hey, okay, I didn’t _set out_ for it to be this way, relax. I’m _trying_ to be careful, that’s exactly why Reese _can’t know-”_

“Doesn’t she know you’re a lawyer? Does she- or anyone else, actually, does anyone ever ask you what the hell you do? What do you tell them?”

“Honestly, at that point, I just start throwing out legal jargon and shit,” Dean explained, _still_ with that stupid smile plastered on that Mcjones was starting to hate. “I didn’t do it with you when we met, since I was trying to be interesting, and you're not from here so I wasn't really worried about it- but it’s really not hard to bore them with it.”

“I- Okay, that’s good at least, but _oh my God,”_ Mcjones huffed, rubbing his temples. “Why are you doing this?”

“... Alright, let me say, this was definitely not the plan,” Dean started, bringing up a knee and resting his arm on it. “I’ve known Reese… like, forever, it feels like it’s been my whole life. My family’s not from here, I moved here when I was young and still in law school and stuff, and as soon as I met her we just… stuck to each other. We’ve lived together for years, we got this spot specifically, uh… five-ish years ago, must’ve been. And, well- lots of other friends come through here when they need a place to stay, but honestly, my job’s the reason we can even afford this place. You can’t get a spot like this waitressing, as… unfair as that is. At least not in this part of town.”

Noble, Mcjones supposed, but still _bullshit._

“And, like I said- tensions between the Boots and the Blocks wasn’t always like it is now. I wasn’t always working for the Boots, either, but they’re the ones who made the opportunities, and I was the one taking ‘em. And… now, I’m kind of stuck in it.”

Mcjones swallowed, nodding. “Is Reese… _with_ the Blocks?”

“Not… _exactly._ She’s not, like, a literal gang member, if that’s what you mean- she’s not the kind who’s like, running errands and robbing grocery stores, and whatever else they do. She has her own life, her own shit to do, but… like I said, again, when it comes down to it, she’s on their side. Hundred percent.”

“Okay, that’s… something, I guess,” Mcjones muttered, wrapping his arms around himself. “But _please_ tell me you realize how… _ridiculously_ dangerous all this is.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Good, okay, but- Why are you still doing all this, then? I- There’s no way all this is worth it, you-” Mcjones began, before a certain... _concept_ came to mind. One that sent his heart racing, made his hands shake- flipped his whole world upside down from the sheer magnitude of how _perfect_ it would be. “Why don’t you leave? You could come home with me…”

Dean’s face fell, like he’d been told his old family dog just died. There was a sliver of sweetness in his expression, in the tiny smile still hanging onto his lips and the softness in his eyes, as if to say that dog died painlessly and after a long, full, happy life- but still, there was the ever-present lingering gloom of _death_.

“... I can’t. You know how a mob works, don’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“Mcjones, I’m- I’m in way too deep, I can’t. They’d find me. I’d just be putting you in danger too if I did that. I mean, imagine if they found out you’re a _Hargrave_ too, fuck-”

“ _Still,_ I- You can’t just do this. I- Like, okay, Reese doesn’t know, right? Imagine I’m her, or anyone else, anyone who doesn’t know you’re with the Boots, and I'm asking you _why_ you’re still here. When you have the money and the skills to make it out of here, and have your life _not_ be in grave danger every day. What do you say to them?”

“... I told you, Reese is like my big sister. They’re my family, her and Jon, and Ray, and Dodge, and all the other friends that come through here. I… even if I could, I’m not sure that I’d wanna leave them behind. At least not without a place to stay,” Dean explained, a sense of tiredness coming over him, like this topic was something Dean had been painfully aware of for a long time, but never put into words- was never challenged upon. “Man, I love them.”

“You’re lying to them.”

Mcjones knew that came off way too mean, but still, Dean laughed at that. Weakly, bitterly, but still a laugh, and it made Mcjones almost want to cry. He lifted his hand, as if expecting a glass of wine to appear for him to drink from, and with which to forget about it all and act like everything was _fine-_ but of course, there was nothing there.

“... I can do both," Dean whispered.

… And they both just sat in that silence for a moment; alone, on the cold, hard floor of Dean’s bedroom. Wishing they were drinking, or in some other way distracted, or simply in any other place, _situation,_ than the one they were in. In the quiet of it all, Mcjones wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole world actually came to a stop, for only a second.

… Slowly, they recovered. Mcjones sighed, pressing his cheek into his palm.

“So, uh… Does… does Reese know about my brother?”

Dean exhaled, clearly relieved to be posed with a different topic, despite it still being very much adjacent to the one they were on.

“She doesn’t know his name, no. They’ve met, I was there when she kicked him out of the diner a couple years back, that was kinda funny- but no. She only knows him as PBG.”

Mcjones was already so out of it, so _numb,_ it took another couple seconds for that sentence to actually process.

And then it hit him, like a ship rocking in the middle of a storm, like a cliffside branch ripping open his skin as he continued to fall.

“... Oh my God, he still uses that name?”

“... Yeah? Does it mean something to you?”

“... It’s a nickname. From when we were kids.” And suddenly, it all finally hit; Mcjones felt the sting in his chest, the trembling in his fingertips, the gathering feeling behind his eyes- and he knew he had absolutely no right to be the emotional one, when he wasn’t the one living his whole life in literal constant danger; and yet. “I… I haven’t heard that name since I was a teenager…” 

Dean scooted a bit closer to him, laying a hand on Mcjones' arm. “Hey, I’m… I’m really sorry about all this. I know it’s… a lot to process.”

Mcjones met Dean’s eyes, the distance between them closer than they’d been since they met at the bar, closer than Mcjones was truly ready for. There was _so much_ swirling in Dean’s eyes, so much sympathy and _regret,_ yet still _hope,_ despite the insurmountable odds. Having seen more trouble and pain than Mcjones could begin to imagine; so much that Mcjones didn’t think he would ever understand. 

“... You can’t do this. You can’t, seriously, stay here…”

Dean didn’t say it, but Mcjones could just _see_ it in his face, one of the few conclusions he could draw from him and actually _understand_ \- that _he knew._ That he knew, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Mcjones knew that too, somewhat; but he couldn’t accept it so easily.

“... Mcjones, if there was a way- if there ever _is_ a way, I can promise you that, I’ll go with you. Like if the Boots collapse, and somehow I’m still alive-”

“Don’t say it like that,” Mcjones murmured, leaning in closer to Dean, reaching for his hand.

“If- I mean it, you- You know what I’m getting at. If I ever get the chance… I’ll need to say goodbye, but I’ll go. I promise you that.”

“That’s not _enough,”_ Mcjones mewled, moving in just slightly closer, holding Dean’s hand tightly, as if to pull him back if he were to start disappearing. If he were to die in Mcjones’ arms, in that very moment. “You say it, like- like _if_ you survive, _you know_ this could- it could _literally_ kill you, at any moment, I- At this rate, wouldn’t it be safer just to _try_ and get away? Because, this-”

“Mcjones,” Dean whispered, caressing Mcjones’ cheek- and it made Mcjones’ words start to tangle up.

“This is _awful._ You can’t- You… Please, just come home with me…” 

And with that, Dean leaned down and kissed him, as if to quiet him. 

It certainly worked; it poisoned and disintegrated any words left on Mcjones’ tongue, ripped the breath from his lungs as his eyes fluttered closed, in a state adjacent to death. One final time, the world slowed to a stop, just for them; the only movement being Dean’s lips against his own, the shifting on Dean’s grip on him.

After an eternity, Dean pulled away, licking his lips- and with it, Mcjones came back to life; albeit, still speechless. But he did know that the taste on both of their tongues was the same; something like milkshakes and blood wine, a forbidden fruit- something that in a day or two, Mcjones would never have the privilege of tasting again. Something like the sickly sweet death of hope.

Dean didn’t say anything else; all they could do was sit in the silence, breathe it in, revel in it- and all Mcjones could think about was how beautiful Dean was. How unfair this all was- how less than an _half an hour_ prior, he could have never _imagined_ an outcome like this.

One parting thought came to Mcjones’ mind- that they were something like Orpheus and Eurydice. That no matter how hard he tried, no matter how far they travelled together, Hades had his hold on Dean- and Mcjones couldn’t lead him out of hell. No matter how much he promised himself he wouldn’t turn around and ruin it all, no matter how much he still wanted to _try_ \- there were a hundred reasons they would fail, that one or _both_ of them would end up dead, and… for once, Mcjones could say he was starting to understand.

No matter how many promises Dean made, no matter how many precautions were set, no matter how many glasses of wine whispered to them that everything would be alright; it was hopeless. There was nothing either of them could do, and…

Mcjones knew he had to go before he got stuck here too. All he could do was make the most of the time he had left with Dean.

… Aphrodite could be a cruel goddess, sometimes.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> also have a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/53wwyywaeEcU2RGu3NdEG4?si=ONhx4xh_Q1KlMsLDcULEMQ) i think the description is funny okay thanks for reading mwah


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